


just you and me feelin' the heat

by missymeggins



Category: Castle, Warehouse 13
Genre: Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a case sends Myka Bering to the 12th Precinct of the NYPD?</p>
            </blockquote>





	just you and me feelin' the heat

**Author's Note:**

> just you and me feelin' the heat | warehouse 13/castle; myka/beckett | 5068 words | pg | written for | what happens when a case sends Myka Bering to the 12th Precinct of the NYPD? | au crossover

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
Myka traces the artefact to New York.  
  
More specifically, she traces it to the 12th precinct of the NYPD.  
  
“Oh shit,” she sighs to herself.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Myka Bering for Detective Beckett?” she tells the desk duty officer. “I'm here to look at an old book that was found at a crime scene?”  
  
She's lucky the duty officer seems incredibly bored by her job. She doesn't ask for ID or question exactly _what_ kind of expert Myka is to be consulting on a case. She just escorts her into the bullpen and points out Detective Beckett's desk.  
  
“ _Oh. Shit_ ,” she says again, silently thanking whatever gods decided to intervene and send her on this mission alone because if Pete were here – and had paid enough attention to know what their artefact did which, granted, isn't always a given - he would be _insufferable_ right now.  
  
Detective Beckett? Is not your average middle aged, doughnut eating stereotype. Of course not. That would make this case far too easy. No, Detective Beckett is actually a tall, beautiful, positively _sexy_ woman.  
  
Myka takes a breath, hopes to high heaven this case can just go _smoothly_ , and walks herself over to the desk, holding out her hand to the startled detective and introducing herself as, “Myka Bering. Of Bering and Sons Books. We collect rare books.”  
  
“Detective Kate Beckett,” she answers with a slight wrinkling of her brow that indicates impatience but an attempt to at least be polite. “Can I help you?”  
  
“I hope so,” Myka flashes her a smile. “I heard a little rumour that the 12th precinct may have come across a rather old, rare, book during the course of a case this morning?”  
  
“It's an ongoing investigation,” Beckett answers succinctly, as if to end the conversation.  
  
“I understand,” Myka says amicably, taking a seat in the chair next to Detective Beckett's desk. “I was just wondering what will happen to it once the investigation is over?”  
  
There's the briefest flash of _something_ across Beckett's face as she takes in Myka sitting across from her, eye flicking down at the chair and then back to her face. But then it's gone and her face is composed, controlled again as she speaks.  
  
“That depends on a whole variety of factors. I really couldn't speculate at this point.”  
  
“Well, have you been able to verify it's origin? Or author?” Myka persists.  
  
“Only that it's Greek. And old,” Kate answers bluntly, impatience beginning to creep into her voice.  
  
“Well, perhaps I can help you with that?” Myka offers hopefully.  
  
“Ms Bering? Was it? Forgive me for being blunt, but I'm beginning to feel that you have an oddly keen interest in this book. And that makes me a little suspicious. So no, I don't think we'll be needing your help on this.”  
  
Myka grins a little. She tries to contain it but she can't. Despite the annoyance she feels as she realises this case is most definitely not going to go smoothly, she can't help but feel a surge of respect for this Detective Beckett, who is clearly much more than a pretty face.  
  
“I promise you Detective Beckett, my interest in this book is from a purely historical – and absolutely _not_ criminal - perspective. But I do understand, you have to do your job. I won't interfere.”  
  
Beckett leans back in her chair, giving Myka an appraising look and she finds herself thinking that, while there's definitely something a little fishy going on here, Myka Bering does not seem like a criminal. In fact, she seems like a highly intelligent woman who is almost definitely much _more_ than the simple book collector she's claiming to be.  
  
But whatever else is going on, she doesn't really want to be involved. Jumping into mysterious goings on is Castle's territory, not hers. She just wants to solve this case with as few complications as possible and to that interest she hopes Myka is being honest about not interfering.  
  
(Though she notes with curiosity a slightly conflicting sense of disappointment at the thought of Myka disappearing so quickly. There's something rather intriguing about her. And she's suddenly very glad that Castle is busy with Alexis and college things at the moment.)  
  
“Do you mind if I leave my card?” Myka asks now, holding a hand out to her.  
  
“Sure,” Beckett agrees quickly. (Too quickly, maybe. She wants to snatch the word back and breathe it out more casually.)  
  
“I'll be in New York for a couple of days, so if you change your mind and want me to take a look, just give me a call.”  
  
Beckett just gives her a brief nod and puts the card on her desk, watching thoughtfully as Myka turns around and walks away.  
  
Then she picks up her phone and starts making calls.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Several hours later, Myka's in her hotel room, frustratedly contemplating the validity of breaking into the 12th precinct alone as an action plan (she grudgingly admits that breaking in usually goes better when Pete is there as backup) when her phone rings.  
  
“Myka Bering?” she answers curiously. (Truth is her cell doesn't actually ring all that often these days. The Warehouse team prefer Farnsworth's for communication and her social life isn't exactly thriving out in South Dakota.)  
  
“Myka,” she hears Detective Beckett's voice on the other end of the line. She sounds different somehow. Less serious, like she's smiling at her through the telephone or something. She finds herself smiling right back.  
  
“Look, I've given some thought to your offer of help. We've hit a few too many dead ends for my satisfaction, so maybe you will see something we're missing?”  
  
Myka grins to herself, pleased at the fortuitous turn of events. “Great, I'll come by the station first thing tomorrow?”  
  
There's a pause, stretching out between them and suddenly this conversation feels anything but professional. There's a little flutter in Myka's tummy as she waits for Kate to speak again.  
  
“Sure, if that's what's best for you,” Kate breathes out and to Myka it almost sounds like a sigh.  
  
“But, uh, I was thinking...” Kate continues. “If you didn't have plans tonight maybe we could meet for a drink and I can fill you in on some details?”  
  
Myka bites her lip. This is probably a very bad idea. It could be – _dangerous_. Not that she isn't used to that, but this feels like danger of a whole different kind. On the other hand it might help secure the artefact as soon as possible. And that, she thinks, is probably in everyone's best interest.  
  
(A tiny voice in her head says it really shouldn't matter to her if Kate Beckett happens to fall under the influence of this particular artefact. By comparison to what they usually deal with, this is fairly innocuous. But still, it's her job to protect people she reminds herself. _That's_ why she needs to get this artefact as soon as possible. There is no other reason.)  
  
“Okay, sure,” she replies. “Where do you want me to meet you?”  
  
(After she hangs up the phone she realises she's got a strand of her twirled around her finger. She doesn't even remember doing it.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Against her better judgement, Myka pulls on a dress, heels, and puts on a deep red lipstick that almost never sees the light of day.  
  
She tells herself there's no real reason for it.  
  
(But there is.)  
  
(Only, Myka doesn't even know it but it's not the reason she thinks it is.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She walks into the bar – a classy establishment that makes her wardrobe choice feel far less conspicuous now – and glances around for Detective Beckett. She almost misses her, eyes automatically searching for her in the understated professional attire she'd worn at the precinct. But Myka is surprised to discover Kate Beckett smiling at her appreciatively from her seat at the bar, wearing a very form fitting blue dress that – sitting with her legs crossed the way she is – shows off almost every inch of her long, and beautifully toned, legs.  
  
She swallows. This is going to end badly, she thinks. The things she does for the Warehouse, she thinks. (As if she can pretend that this is pure professionalism anymore.)  
  
“Hi,” she says as she takes a seat on a stool next to Beckett. “Nice to see you again.”  
  
“You too Agent Bering,” Beckett says with a smirk and Myka shifts on her stool a little, uneasy at the discovery of her deception. She should have seen it coming really; it wasn't a watertight lie or her smartest move ever, but it had seemed sensible enough in the moment.  
  
“You checked me out?” she asks bluntly.  
  
“Couldn't resist,” Beckett tells her with a low laugh. “You piqued my curiosity. And I have to say, even more so when I learned you were Secret Service.” She takes a sip of her drink now, casual and cool, enjoying the control.  
  
(Myka recognises a kindred spirit in this sense. It makes it hard to be annoyed at her truth be told. As if Myka wouldn't have had a background check run on her if their roles had been reversed. And then lorded that information over her in turn. She senses they might be more alike than one would guess at first glance.)  
  
“So, Myka, you wanna tell me what the Secret Service is doing in the middle of my homicide case?”  
  
Myka shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry. That's kind the 'Secret' part of Secret Service.”  
  
Kate laughs properly now, with a wide smile on her face and Myka would be lying if she said it didn't send a little stab of desire straight through her. Kate Beckett isn't merely _beautiful_ , she's fucking _gorgeous_.  
  
( _Shit shit shit_ Myka thinks. _This is not good._ )  
  
“Figures,” Kate responds. “But you weren't lying when you said you were only interested in the book were you?” she asks curiously.  
  
“No, I wasn't,” Myka answers her honestly. “I need the book. That's what I'm here to get, that's my job. I'm not trying to obstruct your case in any way.”  
  
“Okay then. You can have it,” Kate shrugs casually, picking up her drink and taking a sip.  
  
“I'm sorry, what?”  
  
“You can have the book Myka,” Beckett laughs again (and it's starting to unnerve her a little, the way Kate Beckett laughs, because she can't tell if it's mocking or flirting. And perhaps more to the point, she can't quite tell which she'd be more comfortable with.)  
  
“Look, the truth is we closed the case this afternoon and the book had nothing to do with it. It was a random item that turned out to be entirely irrelevant. But it did bring you to my desk, and I'll be honest, I find you intriguing. And in the process of my digging, I may have spoken to a woman who made it quite clear that it'd be in my best interest to help you out.”  
  
“Ah, Mrs Frederic,” Myka says with a grin. “Yeah, she kinda likes to do that to people from time to time.”  
  
Kate leans over slightly, grabbing her handbag off the floor and pulling out a small rectangle object wrapped in some kind cloth and placed in an evidence bag. “Figured I should try to protect it a little since it's so old,” she shrugs, sliding it onto the bar in front of Myka.  
  
“Thank you,” she replies sincerely. It's rare that retrieving an artefact is this simple. She reaches for her own bag, but pulls up straight, realising her mistake. She changed clothes. She's wearing a dress, not her usual jeans, and she swapped her handbag for an evening clutch. Meaning, no neutraliser bags.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes out quietly and Kate raises an eyebrow at her.  
  
“I should really get this back to my hotel,” she says apologetically. (She's sure the evidence bag isn't going to do a great deal to dampen the artefact's power. It's irresponsible to linger here. With Kate. It's just...a bad idea. And she has to force herself to remember that. Which proves her point really.)  
  
Kate nods, and Myka wonders why she doesn't look more disappointed. She feels her own disappointment hollow in her stomach.  
  
“Where's your hotel?” Kate asks, sliding off the stool and gathering her bag. “Maybe we can split a cab?”  
  
“Sure,” Myka says, not actually bothering to find out whether their destinations are even vaguely close, simply thinking that if this is her last meeting with Kate Beckett, she might as well make it last just a little bit longer.  
  
It's reckless. But what could happen in the short space of a cab ride? Right?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kate gives the driver directions to her apartment and they lapse into silence. In the confines of the cab it's even harder not to be aware of each Kate's presence and the attraction Myka's felt growing since she walked into the precinct that day..  
  
She closes her eyes, thinking she just has to get through this cab ride, get the artefact safely neutralised and tomorrow she can head back to South Dakota and normality. (And yes, she does realise the irony of thinking that her life at the Warehouse is 'normal' in comparison to the day she's had. A day, which as cases go, has actually been surprisingly easy.)  
  
But then she feels warm fingers slide over knee and rest on her thigh and she wrenches her eyes open with a gasp, trying to not to actually _leap_ away from Kate's touch.  
  
“Myka?” Kate says quietly – and Myka's not exactly sure if it's so their cab driver can't hear or because she's not entirely confident saying what she's about to say - “I like you.”  
  
Myka takes a breath, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Kate's hand is still on her thigh and the fact that if she were to just move in quite the right way, she could probably get it to slide even higher. “I'm flattered Kate -”  
  
“ - but not interested,” Kate finishes for her (incorrectly, Myka might add) and she moves to take her hand back but Myka grabs it, holding it in place before she even realises what she's done.  
  
“No, it's not that,” she whispers emphatically. “It's just...I was here on business Kate. Get the book, go home. To South Dakota. And now I have it, so tomorrow...”  
  
“So what?” Kate shrugs. “Look, I'm not exactly suggesting this is some great twist of fate and we're each other's one true love or anything – the truth is I don't even know if I believe in that, but that's beside the point – but there's an attraction here so what's wrong with enjoying that for an evening?”  
  
The cab pulls up outside Kate's building now - _seriously?_ Myka thinks. The timing is just absurd! - and Kate opens her door, not yet stepping out and not yet removing her hand from Myka's thigh, looking at her with eyes that say, 'Your call.'  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The door closes behind them, Kate pushes her up against it and Myka isn't terribly surprised to find herself thinking that Kate's body feels every bit as good as it looks.  
  
And then Kate's tongue is in her mouth and she's pressing a leg between Myka's own and the only thought in her head is -  
  
“Fuck, Artie's going to kill me for this.”  
  
Okay then. Not just a thought in her head.  
  
Kate pulls back slightly, with a raised eyebrow as she asks “Who's Artie?” But it doesn't stop her from attacking Myka's lips again.  
  
“My boss,” Myka manages to breathe out between kisses (though it's all starting to feel entirely irrelevant the harder Kate pushes her thigh between Myka's legs.)  
  
“I don't think Artie needs to know,” Kate whispers in her ear, pulling her by the waist now and walking them backwards her bedroom. Her fingers are sliding the zip on Myka's dress down her back and the smile she wears on her face is just about the most seductive thing Myka has ever seen.  
  
And it's that thought that brings her to her senses.  
  
“Wait. Stop,” she says, shaking herself free from Kate's arms, and putting some distance between them while she catches her breath. “We can't do this. _I_ can't do this.”  
  
Kate breathing is as laboured as her own and she runs a hand through her messy curls, before locking her eyes on Myka's and asking, completely bluntly, “Why not?”  
  
She waits a beat and when Myka doesn't answer, she continues. “Look, Myka, I'm not in a relationship. I admit, there's a slightly complicated _thing_ with my partner but nothing has ever actually come of it and I don't owe him any kind of fidelity. So if you're single – which I kind of get the sense you are, no offence – then I don't see any reason we shouldn't act on this attraction.”  
  
“How about because it's not _real_?” Myka replies, just as bluntly.  
  
“Myka?” Kate says, bridging the gap between them with a little smirk on her face. “Two minutes ago I had you pressed up against the door with my tongue in your mouth. I'm not sure how you're defining 'real' but we must have a very different interpretation.”  
  
“No,” Myka says, taking a step back because Kate looks an awful lot like she's going to kiss her again. “That's not entirely what I mean.”  
  
“Then explain,” Kate answers calmly, stopping in front of Myka but making no attempt to touch her. If Myka has doubts, or needs a moment to collect herself, she's not going to _force_ anything, or try to seduce her fears away. (Even though the latter thought is _somewhat_ appealing. At least, just the seduction part.)  
  
“I don't really know _how_ ,” Myka says and her voice betrays her obvious exasperation with the situation. It's like she's fighting with her own desires. She _wants_ to be here, in this room with her, but there's something stopping her. “What if I told you that my work involves finding objects that can sometimes have... _power_ over people. The kind of power to make them do things they wouldn't normally do.”  
  
Kate smiles a little, biting her lip, and she says, “God you sound just like Castle with the wild theories. Are you honestly trying to tell me that there's some _magical_ object that's making me this attracted to you? That's a _little_ far fetched Myka.”  
  
Myka breaths in, with a little roll of her eyes, and says, “Trust me, an artefact that causes _attraction_ isn't even _close_ to being as far fetched compared to some of the other things I've had to deal with.”  
  
“Artefact?” Kate says, and her tone of voice make it sound like she's saying 'unicorn' or something equally as absurd. But the face she makes is utterly adorable, Myka thinks.  
  
“Okay, look. This is part of the whole 'Secret' Service thing and I know you think I'm crazy and I don't exactly blame you, and I'm not even _supposed_ to be telling you this, so frankly, if you _don't_ believe me, it's probably for the better but it's the book that's doing all this. And the longer we're exposed to it, the stronger our attraction gets. It's the reason you even _called_ me in the first place But the fact remains, I feel like I'm taking advantage of you and I just _can't_ do that Kate. It's not who I am.”  
  
Kate looks thoughtful for a moment, then moves around her to sit on the bed and looking far too calm for Myka's comfort. “Okay. So, _assuming_ this “artefect” thing is true. It's power over us isn't absolute. Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to decide to stop kissing me, right? So, it's merely an _influence_. I still have the power to make a final decision about whether to act on my attraction to you. I was attracted to you the minute you walked into the precinct, but I didn't throw you down on my desk now did I?”  
  
“What's your point?” Myka asks, trying to remain serious, despite the smile that _wants_ to adorn her face at the image Kate has just created in her mind.  
  
“My point, Myka, is that lots of things can _influence_ us. If you and I had met at a bar, and I'd been drinking – but wasn't _drunk_ , was still in control of all my faculties, would that mean you'd be taking advantage of me if you pulled me close and kissed me senseless?”  
  
“Well. No,” Myka answers. “But it's not exactly the same. You didn't choose to be under it's influence.”  
  
Kate looks at her, face softening into something almost like affection. Her voice is gentle when she speaks. “Myka, right now, I really want to take you into my bedroom, take that completely maddening dress off you, and make love to you all night. But I'm controlling that desire to have this conversation with you and ease your fears. If that's not proof that you're not taking advantage of me, then I really don't know what else I can do to convince you.”  
  
She stands now, moving toward Myka slowly, as though she's a frightened animal she's trying not to startle. (And Myka can't help thinking that's alarmingly close to how she feels right now because her heart has resumed beating wildly against her chest and her eyes feel huge on her face.)  
  
Kate places her hands on Myka's hips and leans in to kiss her – gently this time, slowly and cautiously, giving Myka every opportunity to stop if it's not what she wants.  
  
But Myka _does_ want it and she takes a breath, acknowledging that there's logic to Kate's words and that this – whatever it is they're about to do – is not _wrong_. On the contrary, it feels completely and utterly _right_.  
  
So she kisses her back, harder now, wrapping her arms around Kate's waist, pressing against her and sighing a little into her mouth when she feels Kate's hands find the zipper of her dress again.  
  
“Bedroom?” Myka asks shyly.  
  
Kate takes her hand and leads the way.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In the dark, light shining from the city outside, Myka pulls the dress off her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.  
  
Kate's fingers brush across her waist and Myka reaches around her back, pressing up against her as she finds the zip on Kate's dress, drawing it down quickly and stepping back to watch it fall to the ground.  
  
Kate holds her firmly now, fingers pressing into her hips as she turns Myka around, pushing her onto the bed and settling between her legs.  
  
Myka isn't a loud lover; she breathes her pleasure in soft sighs and gasps and it leaves Kate breathless.  
  
(So does the feel of Myka's lips trailing down her body.)  
  
The world outside them fades away; no Warehouse, no artefacts, no 12th precinct or partner.  
  
There's just the reality of each other.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She wakes early, despite the late hour at which they'd finally drifted to sleep.  
  
(Myka is a morning person by nature, and amazingly, this job has done nothing to change that.)  
  
She expects to find Kate still asleep, but instead finds her lying on her side facing her, their legs still tangled together, with a small smile on her face.  
  
“Hi,” she says quietly, reaching out a hand and running fingers down Myka's back in a way that makes her shiver in delight.  
  
“Hi,” Myka says back, sounding shyer than she should be given just how _well_ they'd gotten to know each other last night.  
  
Kate leans in to kiss her, sweet and quick. “I'm _really_ sorry, but I have to get going. Work calls and murder doesn't sleep,” she says, looking genuinely sorry.  
  
“Of course,” Myka responds and she does understand - she should be getting back to the Warehouse as soon as possible - but there's a part of her that thinks she'd be quite content to spend a few more days under the _influence_ of this particular artefact, so she pulls Kate close and kisses her deeply one last time.  
  
“That was cruel,” Kate murmurs, eyes still closed.  
  
“Sorry,” Myka whispers against her lips.  
  
“No you're not,” Kate says, and the smile in her voice is evident.  
  
“You're right,” Myka tells her, “I'm not. Not even a little bit. Last night was - well let's just say I had no idea.”  
  
“But now you do,” Kate murmurs contentedly. “So if you're ever back in New York...”  
  
She doesn't say the rest. It doesn't _need_ to be said. And it might be better it isn't. There's no obligations here, no promises of forever - or even a next day. That's okay. But if Myka _is_ ever back in New York? Well, Kate would gladly welcome it.  
  
“With the artefact? Not likely,” Myka sighs a little.  
  
Kate laughs, shaking her head. “I'm sorry, but I still don't buy that _this_ was somehow some kind of magical spell.”  
  
“So what's your explanation then?” Myka challenges.  
  
“Seriously?” Kate asks incredulously. “Myka, my _explanation_ is you're a beautiful woman, who's intelligent and adorable and we have _really_ great chemistry together that translates into _amazing_ sex. Go ahead and call me a cynic, but that's so much more plausible than your theory. And you know what? The fact that you seem to have _no_ idea how sexy you are, just makes you even more irresistible.”  
  
Myka blushes, buries her head in the pillow and just sighs.  
  
“Hey,” Kate says gently, running her fingers softly through Myka's curls. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
“No, you didn't,” Myka says turning back to face her. “It's just. It would be really nice if that were true.”  
  
Kate shrugs. “Well, that's my truth and you won't be able to convince me otherwise.”  
  
She presses a final kiss to Myka's lips and swings herself out of bed. “You don't mind letting yourself out, do you?” she asks as she dresses. “Help yourself to breakfast. If you can find any.”  
  
“I'll be fine,” Myka tell her, smiling as she watches Kate transform from sexy lover to Homicide Detective.  
  
She closes her eyes; she doesn't want to actually _watch_ Kate leave.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Did you get it?” Pete asks when she walks into Artie's office.  
  
“Yep,” Myka answers briefly, dropping it onto Artie's desk. The details of this particular case are definitely not the kind she intends on sharing with Pete.  
  
“Really? That was easy,” he replies, looking at her a little curiously, but then shaking his head like he doesn't really care (and Myka wonders just what exactly his _vibes_ are capable of picking up on). “So what'd this Sophie chick write about that was powerful enough to create an artefact?”  
  
“Sappho Pete,” Myka corrects him with a roll of her eyes. “And she was a Greek poet.”  
  
Artie clears his throat gruffly. “Uh, Myka?”  
  
“Yeah?” she asks, happy to have a distraction from this topic.  
  
“This isn't it.”  
  
“What?” she stutters. “Yes it is! What do you mean that's not it? It sparked and everything when I put it in the neutraliser bags,” she says defensively, while out of the corner of her eye she sees Pete looking back and forth between them like he's watching a ping pong match.  
  
“Oh, it's an artefact alright. It's just not Sappho's lost poems.”  
  
Myka pauses, allowing that information to sink in. “So,” she muses slowly. “If that's not Sappho's artefact...I couldn't have been _influenced_ by it in any way?”  
  
“What do you mean _influenced_?” he questions suspiciously.  
  
“Nothing, no, I was just wondering,” she answers quickly. That's a path she _really_ doesn't want to go down with Artie. “So, what book is this then? And what's it's artefact power?” she asks, changing the subject in what she hopes isn't a completely obvious way.  
  
“I'm not entirely sure yet,” Artie mutters. “But don't worry, I'm sure you haven't been affected,” he tells her, already distracted examining the book closely.  
  
Pete just shrugs at them both and says, “So Mykes, wanna go get some of Leena's punch?”  
  
“Yes!” Myka practically shouts in relief. “I would love to get some punch.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Later, in bed, she contemplates the fact that Kate was right. Their _encounter_ was entirely uninfluenced by anything but their own attraction. It's a thought that brings a smile to her face.  
  
And has her wondering what might happen if she were to find herself in New York again any time soon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Kate's at her desk, trying not to smile to herself as she finishes her paperwork.  
  
“So, Beckett what'd you do while Alexis and I were out of town,” Castle asks her cheerily as he hands her a coffee.  
  
“Oh you know, the usual. Had sex with a secret service agent masquerading as a rare book collector, who insists on remaining convinced that we were under some kind of spell. She's cute, you'd like her,” she says in an offhand kind of way.  
  
Castle chokes on his coffee. “WHAT?”  
  
Beckett just smiles.  
  
“That was a joke right?” he continues anxiously. “Beckett? It was wasn't it? Why would you make a joke like that.”  
  
“Geez Castle,” she sighs, shrugging her shoulders. “It seemed funny in the moment.”  
  
“I hate you,” he says, drinking the rest of his coffee like he's knocking back a Scotch.  
  
She decides this might be a secret best kept to herself.  
  
(Unless of course Myka ever comes back to New York. In that case, all bets are off.)  
  
  
  
  
---


End file.
